


Guilt by association

by publiusvirgilius



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Basically Reader-Insert But I Like Names, Daddy Kink, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Slow Build, University
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25778656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/publiusvirgilius/pseuds/publiusvirgilius
Summary: Aaron Hotchner is used to control. However,  grief and guilt are making him slip. As he navigates the challenges of being a single father, a young woman enters his life. Will she be his downfall or his panacea?Ida Nott is used to getting what she wants. But when her research in childhood development lands her in a classroom of kindergarteners, she must reconsider whether she truly knows her own wants and needs.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 43





	1. Rainy Day Rescue

_Shit! I'm late!_

I hurriedly shoved my papers off of the counter and into my bag, trying not to spill my coffee as I hopped off of the tall chair.

The very class I had just been making lesson plans for started in ten minutes, and it would take me fifteen to get there, on a good day. Even though the school was only one stop over from the metro station across the street from the cafe, Washington D.C. trains were almost always delayed.

Any other day, I would have made a run for it, since it was only about a mile away. But being chronically late meant I had also rushed to get out the door at the beginning of the day on my way to get caffeine into my system as soon as possible, in order to finish lesson planning for my class that morning. And in my haste to leave the apartment, I had forsaken my umbrella, despite having read the weather report the night before.

And so, I opted to take the metro, which is how I stepped into the school building only a little bit damp from racing from metro stop to awning. But unfortunately, this also meant that I was nearly ten minutes late.

As I entered the classroom, the kids didn't take much notice—they were already engrossed in their daily "creative activity." At the beginning of the day, the students settled into the classroom by being creative for fifteen minutes, whether it was making a drawing, writing a short story, or creating a lego sculpture.

My supervisor, however, gave me a chiding look, one that I was all too familiar with. I held back a sigh, knowing that it would only result in prolonging his lecture to me at the end of the day.

When I had chosen to focus on education during my Master's program in childhood development, I hadn't been expecting to spend so much time in a kindergarten classroom. After finishing college, I had been elated for the opportunity to delve deeper into fieldwork. I had always felt at home in lab settings, and my love of neuropsychology and education had brought me to this program.

So when my advisor had urged me to apply for a job at an elementary school to complement my studies, I thought it would be to run contact with the guidance counselor and conduct formal studies with some of the kids. What I didn't realize was that I would end up taking the position of a glorified teacher's assistant.

That's not to say that I didn't enjoy it. And despite my previous reservations, I had to agree with my supervisor that this was the most direct and controlled way to interact with the kids and collect data. Not only that, I loved these kids. I had gotten to know every single one of them and their parents in the last couple of months.

Despite my less than graceful start to the day, the school day passed by quickly, and before I knew it, it was 2:45 p.m., and the kids lined up by the door to be led to either the school bus or the carpool by one of the other teachers.

As soon as the kids left, my supervisor turned to me with that same look from this morning.

"I'm sorry I was late, Brad, it's just that—" I started to apologize.

"This is almost starting to become a pattern," he said. "These kids are in a crucial stage of development where they are grappling with initiative versus guilt, and if you are continuously showing irresponsible behavior—you of all people should know the impact it might have on these kids."

"Of course I understand," I said, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.

"And this isn't just a behavioral study," he continued. "We are providing real education to real kids. I know you don't have a lot of experience, but considering your background, I thought you could handle this."

I hated when Brad got like this. He wasn't usually this condescending and patronizing. He was extremely knowledgeable and good with kids. But I could tell that he had grown up getting exactly what he wanted, probably an only child with rich but distant parents, because it showed whenever he got pissed off. Nevertheless, he was my supervisor and one of the best in the field.

"Next time you're late, I might question whether you're purposefully sabotaging the study, which I think would classify as scientific misconduct, which would be enough to—"

But before Brad could threaten my job further, he was interrupted by a voice from the doorway.

"I hardly think that would be the case, unless Miss Ida has been intentionally falsifying data."

"Good to see you, Mr. Hotchner!" I greeted the man who was at the door, for Brad was struck dumb at the well-timed interruption.

Aaron Hotchner returned my grin with a small smile. Another perk of the job was meeting all of the young dads who came in for parent conferences, even though few of them were available, as most were married.

Hotchner, however, was recently divorced, and not to mention, more than decently attractive. Although he was slightly older than the rest of the parents—from our files, I knew that he was just a year shy of forty—that didn't stop me from admiring his warm brown eyes or his large, strong hands.

His dark hair stuck slightly to his forehead, dampened by the rain, and his large frame dwarfed the toddler-sized furniture in an almost cartoonish manner, but he somehow still commanded authority with his heavy brows and full black suit.

Brad finally came back to his senses. "What brings you here, Aaron?"

As my supervisor, Brad was a full-fledged professor and researcher and closer to the age of the parents, which put him on a first-name basis with all of them.

"Jack said he forgot his lunchbox," he said, tilting his head at the child holding his hand.

"Oh no! The Bat Snack Cave?" I said in false horror.

Jack smiled and nodded his head.

"Do you want to come help me look for it?" I asked.

"Yeah!" he said, letting go of his father's hand and bounding over to the cubbies.

As Jack checked in each of the shelves, I peered behind the unit. _Aha!_

"Here it is!" I pulled the Batman-themed tin lunchbox through the narrow space between the shelf and the wall with only a little difficulty.

"Thank you, Miss Ida!" Jack said.

"You're welcome," I replied.

I liked Jack. He was fairly quiet, but smart, and from the way he interacted with other kids and activities, I could tell he was a very thoughtful kid.

"Thank you, Miss Ida," Hotchner said. "Can we walk you out? I noticed you don't have an umbrella with you."

"Sure," I said, grateful for a chance to escape the classroom and Brad's lecture. Before Brad could protest, I picked up my bag and took Jack's hand, heading toward the door.

"See you tomorrow, Brad!" I said as I exited the classroom, walking quickly in case he tried to call me back

Hotchner caught up to me and Jack after wishing Brad a good day.

"I sensed you could use some help," he said, coming to Jack's other side.

"I appreciate it," I smiled. "You just saved me twenty minutes of my life."

"As someone who's also in a position of authority, I suspect that your supervisor's words have little to do with your performance. From what I hear, you're an exceptional teacher."

"Thanks," I said, blushing slightly. "Jack's a good kid."

"Where are you headed? I'll walk you, really. It's pouring out there."

"Oh, that's okay, I'm just going to the stop across the street."

"I insist. You did save the day, after all," he said with a playful smile.

"Huh?" I asked dumbly.

"You recovered the Snack Cave from behind the shelf."

 _Oh. Right._ I mentally cursed myself for sounding like a ditz. At the same time, hearing the words "snack cave" come out of this serious, suited man's mouth was enough to make me giggle. _So much for not looking like an airhead._

"Then who am I to refuse?" I said.

Just as we reached the doors, Hotchner kneeled down to pull the hood of Jack's raincoat over his head, then held the door open for us to walk through. Under the roof cover at the top of the steps, he opened his umbrella and stepped to my side to cover me.

_Well, this is... close._

At this proximity, I could smell his woody cologne, along with something sharper, something akin to black pepper and nutmeg—hair product that was slowly dissipating in the wet air.

"Ready?" He peered down at me. I had never stood this close to Jack's dad before, and I had never noticed just how tall he was. Now that we were shoulder-to-shoulder, or rather, shoulder-to-head, I realized that he was nearly a foot taller than I was.

My mouth suddenly felt dry, and I tried my best not to let Hotchner's intoxicating scent get to my head. I cleared my throat before speaking.

"Yep."

My vocal chords managed to fail me, and my voice came out in a squeak. I couldn't remember the last time I had even walked in close proximity to a guy, which was pathetic, to say the least. _For god's sake, he's your student's father!_ I reminded myself. _And he's very much a man, not just some guy_ , another voice made itself known from the back of my mind.

Twenty yards never felt so long in my life. As we walked toward the end of the block, Jack walked slightly ahead of us, curving and dodging around each puddle on the sidewalk as he went. Every now and again, my arm would brush against Hotchner's, sending jolts of warm sparks up my spine.

The rain fell around us, pattering against the pavement, but under the cover of the umbrella, it felt as if we were in a tiny bubble of quiet—a silence that increasingly, and painfully, made itself known.

"Mr. Hotchner, we don't often see you come by the school," I said. _Great. An accusatory statement. A real conversation-starter, Ida_. But it was true. It was rare to see Jack get picked up by his dad; he almost always took the bus. Parent-teacher conferences with Jack's dad usually got rescheduled and re-rescheduled.

Hotchner frowned. "Yeah, I'm, uh, trying to work on that," he said, keeping his eyes on Jack.

_And... I've offended him. Perfect._

"My job is very demanding, as you've probably gathered. But Jack's my whole life, and still..."

"I understand," I said quickly. "I totally understand, Mr. Hotchner. I mean, it's obvious how much you care about Jack, and he's doing great. Really. You don't need to worry about him, I was just wondering..."

What had I been wondering? Even though we had files on all the parents as a part of the study's data collection, I actually had no idea what Jack's dad did for a living. He definitely made enough to support Jack, and whatever it was involved in him dressing in suits, apparently.

"What do you do for a living?" I blurted out.

"I work for the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit," he said.

My job dropped. FBI? Sure, I had expected him to have a classy job, maybe as a lawyer or as a CEO, and government agents weren't a rare sight in D.C., but still. For some reason, the image of Hotchner in an FBI vest wielding a gun popped into my head, and it made my heart flutter.

"It requires a lot of travel, and I don't see Jack as much as I'd like," he continued.

"He talks about you a lot," I said. "His daddy the superhero."

It was true. For a kid who didn't talk much, when he did, it was often about how his daddy was out there catching bad guys. I had thought that the superhero stories were just that, stories, but I guess Hotchner really did catch bad guys for a living.

I finally looked up at him and found him looking back down at me. His smile reached his eyes this time. It was nice, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled and the way his eyebrows rose slightly.

"Yeah?"

"All the kids think you're very impressive." I smiled back at him.

There was a moment's pause, and the glint in his eyes made me wonder, just for a second, if he felt what I felt, if he saw the adoration in my eyes, if he noticed the neediness in the arch of my neck. Then, just as quickly, the glimmer in his eyes disappeared, and I wondered if I had imagined it.

His head turned away from me, and he indicated to the signpost behind me.

"Is that you?" He asked.

Before I could let out another dumb _Huh?_ , my brain caught on, and I realized that he was talking about the metro stop.

"Yeah!" I replied eagerly, my brain patting itself on its gray matter back for this bare minimum level of success at comprehending basic English. "Um, thanks again, for saving me back there, and saving me from the rain... and, for picking up Jack. He loves seeing you at school, as you probably know, as his dad." I rambled. _What is this? Thanksgiving? Real smooth, Ida._

A hint of the smile from before appeared on his face.

"Anytime," he said. "I'll try to come by as much as I can."

I gave him a tight-lipped smile, aiming to get away before I could say something more stupid, and then I steeled myself to walk as quickly and as elegantly as possible to the stairs. But before I could duck out from under the umbrella and away from Aaron Hotchner's proximity, his voice stopped me.

"Here." He offered me the handle of the umbrella.

"No, I'll be fine. I don't want you getting wet on my account." _Wait a second, I should have rephrased that._

"My car is right there." He pointed to a few yards down the street where we had passed just a minute ago. "Please, I think you might need it more than we do."

"All right, if you insist," I said, still a bit dumbstruck. "Thank you."

He nodded his approval as I took the handle from his hand, and he called to Jack, who had been quietly studying how the raindrops were bouncing off of the sleeves of his coat. Hotchner scooped his son up in his arms, and I winced at the thought of his most-likely-expensive suit getting wet.

"Take care, Ida," he said, and he quickly covered the ground between where we had been standing and his car.

I stood rooted to my spot the whole time, just barely registering when he drove past me and raised a hand to wave at me as he passed.

With Hotchner gone and no longer holding up the umbrella high above my head, I felt small and alone, the umbrella's brim shadowing my vision, further darkening the already gray sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the rain...
> 
> And thus I embark on my first series! Please send any questions, corrections, criticisms my way—I love feedback!


	2. Petite Boulangerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Hotchner is a complicated man...

The rain continued to pour down.

As reluctant as I had been to take it, I was grateful for the wide, black umbrella over my head, as I had promised my roommate I would pick up tampons on the way home, and the drugstore was four blocks away from the metro stop closest to my apartment.

My roommate Camille and I had met in a biology class. It was one of the only courses cross-listed between her program in anthropology and my program in childhood development. We weren't exactly the likeliest of friends, but we ended up at the same station in lab, and as luck would have it, we had both been looking to sign onto a new lease for the academic year.

Camille was a D.C. native, and she had introduced me to her wide circle of friends as well as an array of bars and clubs in the area. I had never known the sociology-major-type queer girls to drink so much, but if Camille's friends were any representative sample, they certainly didn't let their weekends go to waste.

I had gone out with them fairly often at the beginning of the year, but I had always been more of the stay-home-and-read type, and especially once I had begun my teaching job, I found that I couldn't keep up, both physically and mentally.

But club or no club, I was certainly looking forward to the weekend, when I wouldn't have to wake up before seven a.m.

They say time flies when you're having fun, but it also does when you're unspeakably busy. After school, I had about an hour and a half to get something to eat and run errands if necessary, then class until six or seven p.m., depending on the day of the week. After class, I would grab a quick dinner and then fall asleep doing homework.

And so the weekend was upon me, mercifully quick, and as soon as I got home from classes that Friday night, I promptly passed out, not even stirring awake a few hours later when Camille was getting ready to go out.

This is how I ended up waking up early on a Saturday. Even though I had slept for nearly twelve hours, my body felt as if it had been pummeled by a stampede of bulls. I slowly blinked awake to a quiet house. None of Camille's characteristic snores could be heard, which probably meant that either she was out cold from a heavy amount of alcohol or she was spending the night at her girlfriend's place.

On the weekdays when I rose early, I never had the time to admire how the morning light bathed the apartment. But today, as the fresh autumn rays streamed in through the large windows, the house seemed softer—the edges of the messy surfaces blurred, the clothes on the floor smoothed into coziness.

It was going to be a good day.

I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, stretching as I bent to pick them up from the floor—for someone who spent most of her time on her feet, my back was always in some sort of pain. I was out the door in a matter of minutes, smiling inside at the prospect of coffee and fresh pastries.

The bakery was a weekend ritual I had established since the very beginning, when I moved into the apartment and discovered this perfect boulangerie just around the corner from my building. They were strictly a bakery, except for the drip coffee and scalding milk they kept flowing back in the kitchen, which I suspected had originally been intended for the workers. But somehow word got out to the regulars about their comfy, strong, and impeccably French cafés au lait.

It was fairly warm for a November morning, so the doors of the boulangerie were wide open. I waltzed inside, greeting the French owner and baker with a cheerful "Bonjour!"

I wasn't usually in this early, and it seemed that most of their business came from the later weekend brunch crowd, which is why there was only one other customer in the bakery. He was standing at the counter, engaged in a friendly exchange in French with the owner. Tall, dark hair, strong posture—the man looked familiar.

"Mr. Hotchner?"

I had hardly recognized him in a sweatshirt and joggers. His hair was relaxed, the short strands at the front falling onto his forehead, slightly shifting when he inclined his head in agreement at something the man at the counter said. He looked so open and casual, almost boyish, without his tie or buttoned up collar.

Then, I remembered my own state of dress, and I wished I had allowed myself to go unnoticed. I was only here for my weekend baguette and pastries along with an extra large café au lait to take back into bed, which meant I was dressed in my comfiest sweats, my hair thrown back and away from my face, without a touch of makeup.

At least I had washed my face, which was more than could be said on some of the rougher weekends.

"Ida?" He turned around. "Good morning. It's good to see you."

"You too," I said. "You come here often?" _Nice pick-up line, slick._ Obviously, I needed coffee ASAP.

Hotchner shook his head graciously. "I came out for a run and thought I should stop by this place. One of my coworkers has been talking about it for a while."

"I recommend the pain au chocolat. I've tried it all, so trust me."

"Everything?" His brows shot up as he looked around at the formidable selection of pastries.

I smiled sheepishly. To be fair, I was known for having a sweet tooth. "Another secret I'll let you in on—this place has the best coffee in the neighborhood."

"Coffee?" He asked.

"Shh, keep it down," I said playfully. "Only for the regulars."

"Good to know. Thanks for the tip." He turned to the baker. "Deux pains au chocolat, s'il vous plaît."

"Et pour moi deux pains au chocolat, deux croissants, un chausson, et une baguette," I said, adding to his order. "Et aussi deux cafés, merci."

"That's quite the order," Hotchner said.

"Those," I said, pointing to the pastries that the baker was gathering into a paper bag, "are my weekend plans."

Hotchner only smiled and shook his head as he reached for his wallet.

"No, it's on me." I stopped him quickly. "It's the least I can do to thank you for the other day."

The good thing about authentic bakeries is that they know exactly how good their products are and how much they ought to cost, which means they don't overcharge—ideal for my student budget. The whole thing only came to about fifteen dollars.

Then, I don't know if it was my pre-caffeinated state or the way Hotchner looked in joggers, but I was somehow emboldened to say:

"Actually, my apartment is just around the corner, if you want your umbrella back."

I tried to keep my voice as even as possible. Professional.

Hotchner checked his watch, then seemed to decide he could spare a few minutes.

"Alright. Lead the way."

Since I had already paid for his breakfast, it was a lost cause to stop Hotchner from carrying my overstuffed bag of pastries. 

Fortunately, it was a short walk to my apartment, but since my social ability had failed me the last time I had covered a short distance with Jack's dad, I kept my mouth occupied with trying to sip my hot coffee while in motion.

As we walked up the stairs to my apartment, I felt a rush of panic as I realized that my apartment very much looked like the home of a university student. That sinking feeling intensified in my chest as I gave it more thought—I was inviting homeowner and father Aaron Hotchner into my 900 square feet apartment.

"Are you alright, Ida?"

I had stopped in the middle of the steps, and Hotchner was looking up at me in concern.

"Yeah! Fine, sorry." _I'll just grab his umbrella, then he can leave. He doesn't even have to come in. Would that be rude?_

However, Hotchner was right behind me as I unlocked my door, and despite my reservations, I invited him inside.

"Come in, sorry for the mess." I quickly peered into Camille's room. It was empty. She had slept over at her girlfriend's after all.

"You said you were out here for a run? Can I get you some water?" I asked, making my way into the kitchen. When I looked back, I noticed that he was still standing by the door, observing the items on the small table that was by the entrance.

I wasn't necessarily a hoarder, but when you were running around most of the time, things tended to... pile up, to say the least. Bits of mail, odd papers, scholarly journals Camille and I subscribed to but never had time to read, and, of course, the occasional glittery trinkets that somehow tagged home with me from the classroom in my bags and pockets.

Hotchner picked up a small pink dinosaur made of play-doh and held it out to me.

"This is Jack's, isn't it?"

I took it from his hand, surprised at his uncanny guess. "Yeah, how'd you know?" I asked.

He smiled. "His favorite color's pink," he said, shifting the large paper bag to his other side.

"Oh, here, you can put that down on the counter," I offered, clearing a space on the kitchen counter, which was also cluttered with my schoolwork. "Thanks for carrying them—you didn't have to."

"Not a problem. This is a nice place you've got, Miss Ida," he said politely, glancing around the room in a sweeping gaze characteristic of a detective taking in a crime scene.

I blushed, avoiding his gaze. The place certainly looked chaotic enough to be a crime scene. I knew this was a bad idea. _Stupid, uncaffeinated Ida._ "I think you can call me Ida at this point. Especially now that you've seen where I live."

Another small smile appeared on Hotchner's face. It was cute, the way the corners of his mouth lifted just slightly, the ends of his brows coming together and rising just a fraction of an inch. _What I would give to see that man fully smile._ I found myself wondering about the tenor of his laugh, whether his eyes would close or just crinkle enough to line the edges.

It was definitely rude to daydream about a man who was sitting just a couple of feet away from you. I shook myself out of it and focused on the task of pouring water into a glass.

"Thanks, Ida," he said as I handed him the glass.

"Feel free to sit down. Dig into a croissant," I said. "I'll go grab your umbrella."

That was easier said than done. Even though it had only been a few days since our rainy encounter, the living space clutter had piled up, and though I could have sworn I had placed Hotchner's umbrella right under the window, it was nowhere to be seen.

I started moving piles of paper around, looked under the couch, checked both bedrooms. Still no dice.

"Mr. Hotchner, I'm sorry, I don't think I can—"

"You're not just a full-time teacher, are you?" Hotchner was holding one of my scholarly magazines. _Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry._

"Uh, no. I'm a graduate student, and teaching is a part of my research," I answered as I ducked under a pile of hanging fabric to check behind the coatrack again. I guess he really did work for the government, if his deductive skills were any indication.

Finally, I gave up and joined him at the kitchen counter. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hotchner. I thought I had it around. I'll get it to you as soon as I find it. I'm planning on cleaning the place tomorrow, so hopefully it should turn up then."

Hotchner still hadn't touched any of the bags.

"Can I get you a plate or something?" I asked.

His tall form was hunched over the counter, his hands clasped in front of him. His head was cast downward as well, but his eyes were directed upward, his gaze darting around the kitchen. His brows furrowed as they took in the mismatched tea tins, the cheap, branded mugs acquired from university events, the uneven paint on the shelves chipping away.

I looked away, giving the rest of my apartment another pathetic glance. It looked in even poorer state than before, since I had rummaged through it, and the sun's rays were sharper now, with none of the gray softness of the morning to blur the imperfections, the stark light now highlighting all the mess and clutter.

In that moment, it hit me how wrong this all felt. The parent of one of my students was in my apartment, sitting at my kitchen counter, on a Saturday morning, and I was wearing clothes that could pass as pajamas. 

And I could tell that Hotchner felt it too.

He cleared his throat and made to get up. "Thank you for the water, Ida. Don't worry about the umbrella—consider it yours."

"Oh," I said simply. "Are you sure?"

"I should get going," he said, checking his watch. He grabbed his own small bag of pastries. The crinkling of the paper was too loud in the quiet that had fallen over the tense atmosphere. "These were for Jack. I should get back to him."

"Right."

"Enjoy your weekend, Ida."

Then, he was gone. His long strides had carried him out the door before I could even try to walk him out.

I grabbed my coffee and pastries and trudged back into my room. It was too bright. The brilliant sun was mocking, so I shut it out with my dark green curtains. I felt hot, but I couldn't bring myself to lose the comfort of my sweatshirt, so I instead burrowed into my bed covers, the crisp fabric providing some cool relief against my hot skin.

 _Why did I think that I could bring Aaron Hotchner into my life? What right do I have as his son's teacher to be a part of his life?_ I hardly knew him, and he was more than twenty years my senior. Now not only did he think of me as a pathetic kid lusting after him, but on top of that, irresponsible and unprofessional, and probably unfit to be his son's teacher.

"Ida?" 

Camille was back. She was wearing a long-sleeved rugby shirt with her girlfriend's jersey number printed behind the collar and the same jeans she had worn yesterday. Her short bob was perfectly tousled, her eyes tired but bright.

"Some guy I've never seen before just left our building, is he yours?" she asked, stopping at my bedroom door with a crooked smile. 

That smile faded when she saw what state I was in.

"Oh, hey. What happened?" Her face grew concerned. "He didn't do anything, did he? I fucking swear, I'll smash his wrinkly face in with my cleats if—"

"No, nothing happened," I said with a weak attempt at a smile.

Camille didn't seem convinced. "Okay," she said. "I just stopped by to grab my bag—Rina and I are getting breakfast. But the offer still stands."

"Thanks."

I settled back further into the blankets, holding my cup of coffee close to my chest, hoping to find some solace in flaky pastry. Even behind my dark curtains, I could tell that the unusually hot winter sun was cutting its way through the frigid sky, warming the air and earth and everything else outside.

It was almost December, and the school's second parent-teacher conference of the year would be taking place soon, which Brad had told me was my responsibility. For whatever reason, he avoided interacting with the parents whenever he could, even though he seemed plenty friendly with them. Lazy bastard.

Parent conferences also signaled the end of the term, which meant loads of work, not to mention data compilation from the study. And on top of my own term papers— _Ugh._ I groaned just imagining how the next few weeks would feel. 

So much for having a restful weekend. I had work to get ahead on. And a house to clean, I reminded myself. 

But for now, I just held onto my coffee, pulling the blankets higher around my shoulders in an attempt to shut out my worries and shield myself from my problems, one of which was a certain Aaron Hotchner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...or is he just plain rude?


	3. Chilling Developments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of term is near, but it seems Ida will have more to worry about than just turning in papers.

December arrived without fanfare, bringing chilly gusts and freezing rain that slowly overwhelmed the once sunny days.

I had gotten through most of the parent conferences, fully accepting the chaotic schedule that now ruled my life. I only had a couple of conferences left, and with winter break just a little over a week away, I was more than ready to step away from my kindergarteners for a while and focus on my own classes.

As I sat in the classroom at the end of the school day—Brad left before me these days since the study was coming to a close—I opened my overfilled online planner again. I checked it and updated it obsessively. I knew myself too well to allow myself to lose track of appointments, and I couldn't afford to miss any advisor meetings or grant proposal hearings, much less be late to them.

I had my second-to-last parent conference in half an hour:

**Wednesday, 12/8 3:30 p.m. Meeting with Anna's parents — Marc Orly and Fiona Orly**

And then the next day:

**Thursday, 12/9 7:00 p.m. Meeting with Jack's parent — Aaron Hotchner**

We were supposed to have met a week ago, but unsurprisingly, Hotchner had rescheduled.

I decided to call him to make sure that he still knew about the conference. Not because I hadn't seen him in three weeks and wanted to hear his voice.

"Hello?" His tone was impatient, as if I had just interrupted something.

"Hi, Mr. Hotchner," I spoke in what I hoped was a friendly but efficient tone. "I wanted to call to confirm our conference for tomorrow at seven p.m."

"I'm going to have to reschedule, Ms. Nott," he said without missing a beat.

_Again? Should've figured._

"Mr. Hotchner, the end of the term is next week, and we really would like to—"

"I will contact you tomorrow to confirm when I will be available, but right now I have urgent matters to attend to." His voice sounded strained, as if he were under duress. Then he hung up, without even a good-bye.

 _Is he serious?_ In the three months I had known Jack's dad, I had never known him to be rude.

By eleven p.m. the next day, I still hadn't heard from Hotchner. Brad would be furious. Parent-teacher conferences were not just for updating the parents about their children's educational development, but they were an opportunity to gauge the relationship between the child and parent by evaluating how they responded to hearing about their children's progress.

On my way to school the next morning, I decided to call him myself. The first time, the line rang until I got to voicemail. The second time, however, he picked up after the first ring.

But no sound came out of the other end.

"Hello?" I spoke into the phone.

Still no answer.

"Hello? Mr. Hotchner?"

_What game is he playing?_

"Mr. Hotchner, are you there?"

Finally, someone spoke. However, it was not Hotchner's voice on the other line. It was the voice of a younger man, and his tone was cold, laced with a raspy edge that made me shiver.

"Agent Hotchner is unable to come to the phone. And you'll never talk to him again, unless you give me what I want," said the chilling voice.

I froze in the middle of the street. _Who is this? Is Hotchner in trouble?_

Before I could respond, the speaker hung up, and I remained glued to my spot, unable to move.

_What is going on? Is this a joke?_

The entire day, I was on edge. I couldn't get that cold voice out of my head.

During recess, I was on duty, and I took the time to gather my thoughts. Jack was at school today, so whatever had happened to Hotchner, his son was safe.

But who had gotten him ready for school? He had been on time today, like always, and nothing had seemed out of the ordinary about his behavior. If I hadn't called Hotchner that morning, I never would have known that anything was out of the ordinary.

The playground looked the same as always. The ground was slightly blanched and damp from the remnants of morning frost. The kids, their noses pink from the chilly air, ran and ducked under the slides and around the bare bushes. From my usual spot under the tree near the building I had a view of the whole playground and the parking lot beyond it, and my gaze fell into the familiar pattern of tracing the students' movements across the yard.

Then, something appeared in the corner of my vision. Something out of place. A large black SUV pulled into the parking lot and skidded to a jolting halt just behind the playground fence, and a large man exited the car as soon as he had parked haphazardly across the asphalt.

Parents generally signed in at the front office before visiting during the school day. This back parking lot was for buses and pick-up only. I called to the other teacher on recess duty to let her know I would go talk to the man.

_Huh. I don't recognize him. He must be the parent of a student in another class._

At least, I hoped he was a parent. The man was intimidating to say the least. His biceps bulged out from under his dark gray shirt with the edge of a large tattoo peeking out from under his left sleeve, and his shaved head emphasized his dark, menacing brows.

"Hi, can I help you?"

The man flashed me a badge. "Ida Nott? I'm Derek Morgan with the FBI. I need you and Jack to come with me."

"What's going on? Is Mr. Hotchner okay?" My head started to spin. The handle of the man's gun glinted even in the scarce sunlight.

"We'll explain everything later. But right now, I need you and Jack to get in the car."

Still not quite processing, I handed over my shift to the other teacher and called Jack. He bounded over with his usual quiet cheerfulness.

"Hi Derek!" the boy said.

"Hey little man," Derek smiled. "We're gonna take you and Ms. Nott to your dad's office, alright?"

"Okay."

Jack was calm as ever during the ride to Quantico. _He must be used to it._

About half an hour later, I found myself sitting in what felt like a conference room with a cup of coffee warming my hands. A few minutes later, a tall man in a sweater vest came in to lead Jack out of the room, giving me a tentative wave. Derek came in shortly after, seating himself directly across from me.

"Ida, we think you're the last person who spoke to our unit chief Aaron Hotchner."

The blood drained from my face. "What do you mean? What's happened to Jack's dad?"

"We traced his cell phone activity, and it looks like the last time his phone was active, he was on a call with you."

 _Oh no. I should have known something was wrong when he didn't pick up._ My skin prickled, anxiety crawling up the back of my neck.

"What's wrong, Ida?"

"I—," I stammered, then gulped down a sip of coffee to ground myself. "When I called Mr. Hotchner this morning, he didn't pick up, which I thought was just him being rude, considering how he hung up on me last night—we've been trying to find a time for a parent conference before the end of the term. But when I tried him again right after, someone else picked up."

I shivered, remembering the strange man's voice. "It wasn't anyone I recognized. His voice was... cold," I said, for lack of a better adjective.

"You're sure it was a man?"

I nodded.

"Do you remember what he said?" he asked.

 _So it wasn't a joke._ "Um," I started, my voice beginning to shake. "He said I'd never talk to Hotchner again unless he got what he wanted."

This was bad. I felt sick at the thought of Hotchner in danger. What would happen to Jack? Was he safe? Was I safe?

"Ida, I need you right here," Derek said firmly, gripping my arm to steady my nervousness. His hands were strong, and I caught a faint whiff of patchouli and orange spice, and suddenly I found myself longing for the more familiar scent of nutmeg and pine—Aaron Hotchner.

When I had imagined myself at the FBI headquarters—and I had imagined it, more times than I'd like to admit—it was always with Hotchner. But today, when I finally found myself at the Bureau, it was under hardly favorable circumstances. For all I knew, Hotchner was missing, or worse, dead, and the last thoughts I had associated with him were only negative ones.

Derek's grip on my arm tightened, bringing me back to the present.

"Think back to the call. Could you hear anything to identify where he might have been calling from?"

"I don't know," I said meekly.

The tall, weedy-looking boy peeked his head into the room again.

"We got the recording," he said. Then turning to me, he added, "You can come with us, if you'd like."

I was led down the hall and into an open work area filled with desks and monitors. where I saw several agents gathered around one monitor—seated in front of the computer was an oddly dressed blonde woman. She wore a brightly patterned dress with a matching pink satin headband, her hair teased out in an '80s style pouf, with sky-high pink stilettos with what I could only describe as furry pom-poms attached at the heel.

"Oh, hello! You look young for a teacher," she said in a bright, friendly voice.

Derek pointed out each of the agents who were now staring up at me with piercing eyes that looked as if they were taking apart each microexpression on my face.

"Ida, these are Agents Garcia, Prentiss, Jareau, and Dr. Reid, who I think you've already met," he said.

Garcia pressed play on the recording, and for some reason I hadn't expected to hear my own voice as well.

**'Hello? Hello, Mr. Hotchner? Mr. Hotchner, are you there?**

**Agent Hotchner is unable to come to the phone. And you'll never talk to him again, unless you give me what I want.'**

I hadn't realized I sounded so... timid. Had I known something was wrong before even hearing the man on the other line? Or was I just that afraid of provoking Hotchner? Through the recording I was able to hear the sharp intake of my breath in response to the man's words, which I didn't even know I had made in that moment.

The agents began to discuss the implications of the man's message, taking apart the lexical nuances and unconscious stress syllables, but I hardly heard any of it. It was hard to think of Aaron Hotchner as missing. He was so solid, immutable, not just physically, but in all aspects. I suddenly remembered our conversation from two nights ago.

"I spoke to him two days ago," I spoke up. "I didn't notice it then, but he sounded sort of strange."

The agents thought this worth tracing as well, and soon they pulled up the recording of what was possibly the last conversation I had ever had with Hotchner.

Something about my face must have given away the fact that I was on the verge of hyperventilating, because one of the agents— _Jareau? I think?_ —came to my side with a concerned expression.

"Ida? Would you like some more coffee?" she asked.

I nodded, grateful for the offer of escape. "That would be great, thank you."

Once she led me back to the conference room, I could somewhat relax. This agent seemed to be the only one who wasn't trying to peer into my mind each time I caught her gaze.

"Agent Jareau, was it?"

"You can call me JJ," she smiled.

"Can you tell me what's going on? What's happened to Hotchner?"

Her large blue eyes looked troubled. "We can't really say. Right now, we know just about as much as you do, which is why we were hoping to get your help. What I can tell you is, we're doing everything we can to bring him back."

"What about Jack? What are we supposed to tell him?" I asked.

"Jack's a tough kid. This isn't the first time his dad has been in danger. He'll be just fine."

_Look at me, less emotionally stable than a five year old._

When JJ spoke again, there was that look of searching in her eyes that I had noticed in the other agents. "Ida, can you tell me the relationship between you and Aaron Hotchner?"

"We don't really have a— a relationship," I stammered. "I mean, he's visited my apartment but that's not what it sounds like... I might have had a crush on him at some point, but..."

The agent smiled, a charming, genuine smile. "I just meant professionally," she said. "If you could tell me more about your job and your role in Jack's life."

"Oh," I said, embarrassed, then began to explain quickly. "I'm a graduate student at the School of Education and Human Development at George Washington University. A part of my research is studying the behavioral development of children aged five to seven, so my advisor thought the best place for me to do that would be as an elementary school teacher."

"And what is your relationship with your students' parents like?"

"They know that they're a part of the study, and they also know that their kids' education will always come first, and that the study is secondary. We do keep files of all the parents in addition to the kids because we have to take all variables into account."

JJ seemed troubled by this, but quickly hid her frown. "You've already helped us a lot, Ida. Agent Prentiss and Agent Reid are going to head to your school to interview some of the other teachers, but we think it best that you stay here for now."

"Agent, it's still the middle of the school day. I need to get back."

Brad was on my back as it was, and I couldn't afford to miss a day of school, especially with my research grant on the line.

"Seeing as you've had contact with a potential suspect, we believe it would be safest for you to stay away from your usually frequented locations, including your home."

"I can't even go home?"

JJ's tone was sympathetic but firm. "If we want to find out where Agent Hotchner is, we can't have you becoming the next victim."

So Hotchner really was missing. I couldn't help but feel that it was my fault. If I had just called him sooner, or if I had been mature enough to go talk to him after the apartment fiasco... It was hard to imagine Hotchner, the big, strong agent, Jack's superhero, losing control, or even, losing at all.

_Does he know where he is? Is he in pain? Is he unconscious? Or awake, thinking of his son?_

And even though I had no right to, my heart ached for Aaron Hotchner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing by the seat of my pants here, so my original goal of updates every week might not be so feasible. I also have several works in progress, including a Tomione fic, a Remus Lupin/OC, and a Reid/OC. But hopefully as the plot thickens, I will gain some inspiration. Thank you to all leaving kudos and bookmarking! —Bises, S.


	4. Tough as Nails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation continues, and Ida becomes entangled even further.

I paced in the small apartment, unable to sleep.

For one, I wasn't tired, even though I had been awake for nearly twenty hours. My mind was one hundred percent lucid and alert, and singularly focused on one thing: Aaron Hotchner.

And even if I were tired, there was no way I would be able to fall asleep in this unfamiliar bed—the sheets a little too crisp, the smell on them not unpleasant, but not comfortable, either. The BAU agents had escorted me to an apartment a few minutes away from Quantico so that they could keep an eye on me as they continued the investigation.

So I paced, looking out the window every few minutes. I had noticed in the course of the evening that the police patrol outside of the building changed every two hours. 

Eventually, I must have dozed off on the couch, because I was woken up by a knock on my door. The sun was just beginning to come up, indicating that I hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep. 

I opened the door to be greeted by Derek and JJ.

"Good morning, Ida. How are you doing?" JJ asked.

"Oh, as well as I can be, I guess," I managed to say. "Living the life, you know?" 

I was sure I looked a mess, dark circles from lack of sleep, hair in tangled clumps. 

At this, Derek chuckled, though the warmth didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Where's Hotchner? Is he safe?" I asked.

The two agents exchanged a look before speaking up.

"We're still trying to zero in on a location," JJ said. "We've been working all night, believe us."

"And you both look like that?" I joked. 

But they both looked, well… good. It was almost unfair how well they looked after pulling an all-nighter.

_I guess all the attractive people in the FBI go to the BAU._

"Can I go home now? I hate for you to be wasting resources on me when you could be out there looking for him," I said. "Plus, I have a meeting with my supervisor in a few hours."

"I'm afraid you'll have to remain here for the time being, Ida. You're still the only person who has had contact with the unsub," Derek said.

"Then can I come with you to the station?" I asked desperately. "I really don't want to stay here by myself any longer."

After exchanging another glance with JJ, Derek nodded.

"We came here to ask you a few more questions," JJ admitted. "But I suppose we can do that back at the station.”

When I stepped into the BAU office, all the feelings I had experienced yesterday came flooding back.

The office was too… calm. People sat at desks steadily typing on their screens, each working individually with perfectly neutral expressions. They processed across the hallways with coffee in their hands, their stride brisk but not rushed, nodding to each other as they passed. The elevator doors opened and closed mechanically, and people stepped in and out of them just as machine-like.

This wasn’t right. They were supposed to be looking for him. 

“What is everyone doing? Who’s looking for Hotchner?”

I continued, my head getting hot.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be doing something—I don’t know—other than just sitting around? Isn’t the whole FBI supposed to be looking for him?”

Derek stepped toward me.

“I promise you we’re doing everything we can,” he said. “We want to find him just as much as you do, but we have to work this just like any other case if we’re to keep a clear head.”

“And maybe you can help us too, Ida,” JJ said.

She led me up a small set of stairs to a medium-sized office, sitting me down on the couch.

“You arguably spend more time with Jack than his father. Is there anyone you can think of who might want to hurt him? Parents of other kids, teachers, staff—anyone?” JJ asked.

I shook my head. “Jack is a generally quiet kid. He doesn’t have any enemies. I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt him or his dad.”

Just then, my phone rang. It was Brad. I grimaced, thinking of the lecture I was about to receive for missing our meeting.

I excused myself and went out into the hall to take the call.

“Hey Brad,” I spoke into the phone curtly. “I’m really sorry, but I have to—”

Brad cut me off. 

“Ida, I’m rescheduling our meeting. Something came up. I’ll call you in the next couple of days,” he said.

Well, that was a surprise. “Oh, okay. But won’t I see you on Monday?”

“I’ll let you know, okay?” he said. He sounded somewhat annoyed. But then again, he usually did.

On my way back to the bullpen, as I stepped around the corner, I nearly collided with a wool-clad torso. 

“Excuse me,” he said.

It was the tall agent I had met the other day, Dr. Reid, and he was in a hurry.

“Did something happen?” I asked, not knowing whether to be anxious or glad. Some news is better than no news, right?

“We got another ping of activity on the unsub’s phone,” said Dr. Reid, spinning around without slowing his step.

I did my best to follow his long strides, until we came to a small room with a dozen monitors. Derek and JJ were already there, standing on either side of Penelope as she typed commands into her keyboard to enlarge the map on the screen.

“So the twisted bastard who took Hotch—I mean, the unsub—is working out of multiple cellphones,” she said. “He probably keeps his work phone, home phone, and crime phone separate.”

Penelope spoke quickly, almost matching the speed of her fingers flying across the keys. 

“This is another associated number of his, and he just made a call from downtown to this number: 703-634—”

“—5364,” I finished. “That’s my number.”

\- - -

The next moments were a blur. 

I remember being questioned about my supervisor while the team narrowed down a profile of the man I had worked with for four months. Brad Lyons. Deconstructed into a single label: organized power-seeker.

In order to feel in control, Brad had taken the most powerful man he knew, Aaron Hotchner, by using Jack as leverage. What he wanted was to gain a sense of power, which no one could give him, not even Hotchner. The team was able to track him down and apprehend him before he could hurt Hotchner, but Hotchner had been missing for over twenty-four hours, and he hadn’t exactly been staying at a 5-star resort.

I didn’t know what state he had been in when they found him, but he must have insisted on coming to the office as soon as possible, because I remember the worn expression on his face as he walked into the station. The kind that only goes away with time.

The closed-up feeling of seeing Hotchner whole was like a vise in my chest, the kind of stifling, painful type of comfort akin to being under a weighted blanket. But even with this, I couldn’t shake the hollow feeling in my heart when he didn’t even spare me a glance as he crossed the bullpen and entered his office.


End file.
